Sometimes I feel stumped when I come here. I have an urge to write, to put down something of my days, but my thoughts sound so pithy when I get them on "paper". The cursor sits, blinking at me, telling me to get a move on, impatiently tapping his foot. I tap out a few phrases, but then hit delete and watch the cursor eat the words until the page is empty and it's just me and a blank screen again. I could write that I've been asked to be the photographer for a junior high girls travel basketball team and that I've shot two work outs so far or that I've made it to the final rounds of an online photo contest I entered last month but that sounds like I'm bragging. I could also write that I'm about to wrap up a month long food photography project and I'm thinking of dedicating next month to lighting and posing and portraiture, but does anyone really care who isn't a photographer? I remember the days when I could sit down with my laptop and write stories of my dad growing up in the Ozarks, just east of where I live now, and how he and his little brother used to play in their creek creating a town called "Shadytown". I wrote stories about my grandmother and her daffodils and how those same flowers are now growing in my garden. I wrote a story about a church down the street from our house and all the services it must've held, all the people sitting in the hot pews on a Sunday morning, the women fanning themselves with dime store fans while their children squirmed next to them dressed in their Sunday best. Writing like that was therapeutic for me, so what happened to that storyteller? Why do I struggle to write those kinds of stories now? Writing has always been such an escape for me, an escape that I just did naturally, picking up a pen and a notebook and pouring words onto paper. Writing was so natural, like breathing. I love to make up scenes in my head and then moving them onto paper (or screen these days) but lately all I see is an empty room with four grey walls and a big bare floor, empty of life and stories. 

I need to fill that room up again and tell tales once more.